pistols for the first volley on the housebreakers.  The clergymen, with Timotheus and Rufus, got their guns in order for the second.  It was almost on the stroke of midnight when the detective slipped in and closed the door after him.  “They are here,” he whispered; “wait for me to ect!  Now, not another word.”  Silent, as if themselves conspirators, the eight men crouched in the darkened hall, listening to steps on the soft grass of the lawn.  There was the low growl of a dog, a short bark, and then a muttered oath, a thud, and a groan that was not human.  Poor Basil Perrowne ground his teeth, for he had heard the last gasp of the faithful Muggins.  A hand was on the outside knob of the door.  Mr. Bangs turned the key and drew back the catch of the lock, when two men thrust themselves in.  “Ware’s the lights, you blarsted fool?” one of the ruffians asked.  The detective drew back, and the others with him, till all five had entered.  Then Mr. Perrowne threw open the office door, and Timotheus that of the linen closet.  In the sudden light cast on the scene the pistol men fired and the burglars tumbled back, two hanging on to three.  “Don’t shoot,” cried Mr. Bangs to the gunners, “but kem on, fellow them up.”  After the fugitives they went, not too quickly, although the bereaved parson was longing for a shot at the murderer of Muggins.  The burglars were on the road, and the waggon, driven by a woman, was coming to meet them.  “Now then,” said the detective, as a couple of revolver shots whizzed past him, “give the scoundrels thet velley, before there’s any denger of hitting the woman.”  The four guns were emptied with terrible effect, for the woman had to descend in order to get her load of villainy on.  The detective gave but one minute for that purpose, and then ordered a pursuit; but the waggon had turned, and, spite of screams and oaths that made hideous the night air, the woman drove furiously, all unconscious, apparently, that her course betrayed itself by a trail of human blood.  “Nen ere killed outright,” remarked Mr. Bangs, “bet I downt believe a single mether’s sen of them escaped without a good big merk of recognition.”

“Do you think we have seen the last of them, Bangs?” asked the Squire.

“Certainly!  This wes a lest desperate effort of a broken-up geng.”

“I wonder who that woman can have been,” said Mr. Errol.  “I know most of the people about here by sight.”

“She’s a very clever yeng woman,” Mr. Bangs answered, evasively.

“It’ll no be Newcome’s daughter?” half asked the Squire.

The detective drew Mr. Carruthers aside, and said:  “It wes to hev been Serlizer, bet she wouldn’t gow, even if Ben hed ellowed her; bet a nice gel from wey beck, a cousin of Ben’s, whom he had never seen before, end who hed just called on Mrs. Towner in the efternoon, offered to take her place.  Her neme is Rebecca Towner, a very nice young person.”

“Losh me, Bangs, you’re an awfu’ man!  What deevilment is this ye’ve been at?”